Carlos thinks he’s funny. He’s a lot of things, sweet and
smart and kind but he’s acquired taste of funny; he likes to make up jokes …
like the email he sent to his friend Ellen who had a birthday last week. He
wrote her a poem about aging joke and, yes, those can be funny if you’re
turning forty or fifty, but when you’re turning 70+ a joke about how you
started your life in diapers and you’ll be ending your life in diapers, is not
necessarily funny to everyone.
Ellen was not amused—but to be fair, Ellen has no sense of
humor.
But then later that same day I was purging the kitchen of
things we didn’t need, don’t use, don’t want and I came across this
oddly-shaped whisk; it looks like a large cone-shaped spring on a handle—perhaps
a potato masher—and we don’t use it so I opted to donate it. Then Carlos saw it
and said maybe he’d send it to his friend Byron who might like it as a sex toy,
and I said:
“Honey. Honey. Sweetie. You’re not funny. You’re cute as a
bug’s ear, sweet as all get out, and kinder than a pack of singing nuns in a
Disney movie, but you’re not known for the funny.”
He put down the whisk. |